


Save Me

by Corker



Series: Love Me [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corker/pseuds/Corker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela returns to Viscount's Keep with the Tome of Koslun and nearly gets skewered by the Arishok.  Aveline intervenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Me

_Pathetic._ That was the word she used - pathetic that some whining little voice in her gut had her turn right around, after she had the blasted relic in her hands, and go _all_ the way back through the burning city to give it to the sodding qunari she’d stolen it from. Could this have all been any more pointless?

Hawke was pissed, but that was hardly surprising. Isabela could handle that. It was a strange sort of relief, to just get this _over_ with, one way or another, and tomorrow she’d worry about Castillon and his -

“The relic is reclaimed,” the Arishok intoned. “I am now free to return to Par Vollen - with the thief.”

That brought her head up. “What?” Isabela asked, tone shading to the dangerous. She’d done the blasted ‘right thing’! Wasn’t she supposed to get in _less_ trouble for that?

“Oh no, no, no, no. If anyone kicks her ass, it’s me.” Aveline’s grim determination was oddly reassuring. The guard captain was no less pissed that Hawke - possibly more pissed - but… But she’d lied and stolen and falsely promised, and Aveline _still_ had her back?

She didn’t have much time to think on it as the viscount’s throne room quickly descended into the chaos of a grand melee. Merrill called down white-violet lightning that split the room with claps of thunder; Aveline hung back to protect the mage while Isabela and Hawke broke past the Arishok to cut down the saarebas lurking on the balcony above. The two rogues, both intent on circling behind their victims, naturally separated. It was no great worry at first - Isabela had fought her way through a city full of oxmen. They were very big, but very slow - and she was very, very fast.

Yanking both blades out of a spearman’s body, she dropped over the railing into another knot of foes. Cut, dodge, parry, thrust -

\- world red-white and hurt and where was the floor? -

A terrible, crashing blow sent Isabela sailing, smack into one of the great marble columns. She felt it, hard across her back, hips wrapping back at a bad angle before she dropped to the floor. Whatever had hit her had pulped her collarbone; trying to lift her right arm summoned only knifelike pain.

 _Whatever_ stalked across the floor toward her. Ridiculously large sword over one shoulder, the Arishok approached. His dark eyes were unreadable as, Isabela supposed, he weighed killing her outright versus shipping her back to Par Vollen. Her lips curled and she gritted her teeth, winging a throwing dagger at him with her left. The motion, brief as it was, still lanced her through with pain. Teeth gritted, eyes watering, she saw the giant blade flash, heard the _tink!_ as he impossibly parried her sally.

She spat, insisting on one last act of defiance -

Like a runaway mining car, Aveline tore into her line of sight, battered templar shield up and ready. The Arishok’s horned head swiveled, and he half-turned to meet her -

She didn’t stop. She dropped her shoulder, leaving her head unguarded, but positioning the shield to bash the Arishok low. Caught askew and off-center, the enormous qunari staggered back under her assault. “You go through me before anyone else!” Aveline shouted, blade describing a perfect silver arc.

The Arishok met it with his own in a parry that followed through in a heavy-handed strike, seeking to simply overpower the human woman. Aveline swung her shield up to catch it. The _thock!_ of sword-on-shield seemed as loud to Isabela as Merrill’s thunder, and she saw Aveline’s knees buckled under the impact -

\- but her sword snapped out as if it were on a spring, a simple and efficient thrust at her unarmored opponent. The Arishok bellowed, bleeding from a gash in his abdomen, and fell back. “You have your book,” Aveline told him. “Take it and go.”

 _”Vashedan…”_ the giant swore, bringing his blade back for another blow.

It could not last long. Twice more the Arishok struck; twice more Aveline caught the blow on her shield and drew blood. Then, the third time, the Arishok shouted a mighty war-cry and lifted his blade in two hands, high above his head, and brought it down like the fist of an angry god.

 _Crack!_ The worn ash shield gave way, splitting right down the Sword of Mercy emblazoned on the front. The greatsword scraped and scratched along Aveline’s armor; the shield had absorbed most of the force as it splintered, so the blow did little more than make her fall back a step. Isabela’s gut clenched. Aveline didn’t have her speed; without her shield, she had no way to block the Arishok. He had reach on her, had more power, had -

The guard captain cast aside the remnants of her husband’s shield. “That will not go unanswered!” she declared - _and charged again_. Without her shield. Without protection.

Aveline attacked like a woman possessed, without a thought to defense. She rained down blow after blow after blow. The Arishok countered each, but she allowed him no time to shift from a parry to an attack himself. When he tried to power through again, as he had at first, she side-stepped and let his sword slice the air. And she attacked again.

They stopped, just in front of Isabela, swords locked against each other. She could see the sweat beading on Aveline’s brow ( _so that headband was good for something after all?_ ), the blood dripping down the Arishok’s legs. “You cannot prevail,” he said.

Aveline’s face contorted into a snarl. _**”You shall not have her!”**_ she shouted - and punched the Arishok in the nose.

It was enough, just enough, to surprise him, to put him off balance, to allow her to side-step again, slide her blade free, pivot and -

\- sink it into his chest.

The giant’s knees buckled, and Aveline pulled her sword free, wrenching it so that the body did not fall atop Isabela. With scarcely a glance at it, Aveline fell into a ready stance, facing away from Isabela. Protecting her.

Unnecessarily, as it turned out. The other qunari, once their leader had been slain, put up their arms and asked to be allowed to leave. Hawke and Aveline let them go, desiring no more bloodshed.

The guard captain somehow managed to stay near Isabela until Merrill, bleeding ambiguously, and Hawke made their way over to her. Then her duties kept her busy in the immediate aftermath of the attack - sorting out the terrified nobles, giving orders, _restoring_ order. The mages and their templars eventually arrived, and sweet healing magic numbed and then warmed her, setting her back to right.

She reclaimed her little knife from where it had fallen, sliding it back into her bracer thoughtfully. Looking up, she saw Aveline with a hand on the shoulder of Seneschal Bran, giving the pale and stricken man a none-too-gentle shake. Her head turned a fraction, and her green eyes met Isabela’s honey-brown ones for a moment. Aveline’s lips quirked, an expression that was half-relief and half-anger.

Isabela smiled sweetly back, but when a knot of people passed between them, the pirate moved to disappear into the crowd, then to disappear from the room. For the next six months, she convinced herself that she’d left to avoid the promised ass-kicking.

That was easier than the other possibility.


End file.
